


Pasta: It’s a Hell of a Drug

by MapleKomori



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Pasta, Ramen, hallucination, it was all a dream, pastaaa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleKomori/pseuds/MapleKomori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy has a ridiculous pasta-induced dream.  Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pasta: It’s a Hell of a Drug

It was after dark by the time the Axis finished their meeting. Well, their overtime meeting. They had wrapped up all of their impending issues right on time, but then Germany wanted to plan ahead for next time... and then Japan insisted that they finish what they’d started... and so on. It was late - that was the point. They had worked through dinnertime, something Italy was not pleased about.

“So, does that conclude our final contingency plan?” Japan asked. Germany squared off the papers he was holding and fastened them neatly with a paper clip.

“I believe it does.”

“Can we go get some food now?” Italy asked, springing out of his seat with excitement. He ran ahead of the others, fleeing the meeting room and sprinting toward the elevator.

“Hold on, Italy!” shouted Germany. “Where are you going?” 

Italy showed Germany his innocent, eyes-closed smile. His finger was still jabbing against the button to call the elevator as Germany and Japan rounded the hallway’s corner.

“Well, since we are done with our horrible boring meeting, finally, I thought we’d go to the cafeteria to get some pasta.” 

Germany shook his head.

“It is almost nine o’clock at night, Italy,” he said. “The cafeteria is closed.”

A look of panic flashed across Italy’s face. If he had opened his eyes, the effect probably would have been even more dramatic.

“But... but...”

“We will have to wait until we get home,” Germany told him.

“But I’ll starve!”

Germany bonked Italy over the head.

“You idiot! You won’t starve over the next hour.”

Curling up into a ball, Italy whimpered about pasta. Finally, the elevator arrived, and the trio entered. Japan looked at his two teammates, perhaps thinking of something helpful to say, but he ultimately stayed quiet. They exited the elevator and trekked past the closed cafeteria. Italy pressed his nose up against the window as Germany dragged him away by the collar. Soon, the trio found themselves as the bus stop, waiting to begin the long ride home. 

Germany sat on the bench, stick straight and tense as a rock, as Italy melted over him, still whining about pasta. That bus was taking forever to arrive. When he looked to Japan for a sort of silent sympathy, he saw... nothing. Japan had gone.

“Where is - ”

“I’m right here,” Japan said from just beyond the bus shelter. He was balancing three large covered cups in the nook of his arm.

“Excuse me for disappearing so suddenly,” Japan said, “but I believe this would go much faster if I took care of it by myself.” 

Italy sniffed the air and immediately straightened up.

“Is that... Is that...?”

Japan nodded.

“There were no nearby restaurants open, but there was a convenience store that sold instant ramen cups.” Japan handed out the ramen cups to his teammates. “Hopefully this will do.”

“Ramen?” Italy asked. “What’s that?”

Japan reopened the lid on his cup and a cloud of steam escaped.

“It’s noodles.”

“Noodles?” said Italy, bouncing with excitement. A little bit of salty broth splashed over the side of his own cup. 

“Italy, watch where you’re - ”

“Noodles! That’s like... PASTAAAA!”

The picture of tranquility, Japan nodded. He unsheathed a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks and prodded at the noodles in his cup. 

“They’re ready,” he said, handing similar pairs of chopsticks to Germany and Italy. Germany took his chopsticks and set them aside. He was busy studying the information on the side of the cup.

“The sodium level of this is questionably high,” he said. “But, given the situation, I suppose this is acceptable for this one occasion.”

They pulled off the lids. Italy and Japan began to eat.

“I refrained from putting the full spice packets into yours,” Japan said to his teammates.

“That’s okay,” Italy said. “Spicy pasta, not spicy pasta - I love all the kinds of pasta.” Italy looked over at Germany, who was swirling the cup and making a little cyclone of curly noodles.

“What’s wrong, Germany?” Italy asked. “Are you stupid and uncultured and don’t know how to eat with chopsticks.”

“You can shut up now.”

“It’s okay,” Italy said, with a cheerful sparkle somehow showing on his closed eyes. “I can feed you.” He slammed his chopsticks into Germany’s ramen cup, pinched a tangle of noodles, and shoved them in Germany’s face. Germany glared at Italy until Italy shrunk back, whimpering. Without another word, Germany picked up the remainder of his own ramen cup and one-shotted it. Meanwhile, Japan quietly slurped a noodle, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary.

At long last, the bus arrived. Italy bounded to a seat and got more comfortable than anyone plausibly could be. The soup in his tummy warmed him from the inside, and soon the vibrations of the bus made him feel sleepy. He snuggled up next to Germany and closed his eyes.

***

The next thing Italy knew, he was falling. It was a slow sort of falling, during which gravity didn’t quite seem to apply. As he descended into a deep, dark hole, he passed strange numbers and equations, a little girl and a white rabbit, and - eventually - a waterfall of ramen. Tangles of noodles and flecks of rehydrated cabbage swam in a sea of unnervingly salty broth. It was heaven. Trippy, trippy heaven.

“I love ramen!” Italy shouted, and then crashed into something hard. If directions were still a thing, then the large flat thing he had crashed into was below him. Therefore, he thought of it as the ground.

“But, Italy,” said a seductive voice. “Don’t you still love me?” A figure emerged from the shadows. A figure made entirely of spaghetti. 

“I thought I was your only love,” said Spaghetti. “Think of all we have been through together.”

Reflecting back, Italy had to admit that his love for Spaghetti was deep. She was familiar and comforting, yet still wild and beautiful. In the light of the magical mystery cave, she looked as beautiful as ever. Semolina flour curved and dipped as it traced around her figure. Long locks of thin, straight pasta ran past her shoulders, down to her waist. Short snips of spaghetti made up her eyelashes, which swept gracefully above her meatball eyes. Her body was draped in a transparent gown made of parmesan cheese.

“Oh, Spaghetti,” said Italy. “You ARE my one true love.”

“Oh, really!” demanded a voice from the shadows. Out stepped a fancy-looking man - very fancy-looking indeed. He wore a monocle and top hat made of cut penne noodles. They matched his pinstripe suit, which was also made of penne noodles. And his skin was made of penne noodles as well, which just goes to show you that some people take the whole “matchy matchy” thing a bit too far.

“Penne!” Italy shouted. “I love you too! I love you like I love Spaghetti and Ravioli and Linguine.”

“You never loved me!” cried Linguine.

Feeling completely overwhelmed, Italy dropped to his knees and sobbed. It wasn’t fair. He wanted all of them. Penne. Macaroni. Fusilli. Spaghetti and her sister Linguine. Farfalle with his lovely bow tie. Tortellini, the ultimate secret-keeper. This newcomer, Ramen, could join their happy family and they could all live together in pasta paradise.

“Pastaaaaa....” Italy cried as Germany shook him awake.

“Oh, hello, Germany,” Italy said, recovering remarkably quickly. “Are we there yet?”

“No,” said Germany. “But you are screaming about pasta and the other passengers are staring.”

“Oh,” said Italy, loudly. Then, much quieter, he repeated, “Oh.” Italy looked around and, indeed, many of the other passengers were glaring in their direction.

“But, guess what, Germany,” Italy said. “I had the strangest dream. And you... well, you weren’t in it and neither was Japan, but it was still pretty cool, and -”

“Italy?”

“Yes.”

“Shut up.”


End file.
